Asma Ahsan Asma Ahsan
Recommendations: 31

Such a strong beginning! Really good!

Cindy Beitinger Cindy Beitinger
Recommendations: 37

"Childhood is the Kingdom where everybody dies. Adulthood; the graveyard where you learn to understand what the means." This is so true. In childhood everything is glossed over and we are lied to. (Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny etc.) In Adulthood - we see the truth behind the lies. We almost set ourselves up for bitter disappointment don't we?

Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Haha I'm not sure we do, necessarily, but certainly the people who raised us. They are the ones that feed our imaginations, and I guess mostly it's just for fun/excitement.

Cindy Beitinger Cindy Beitinger
Recommendations: 37

"This is no never-land, but an ever-after of memory." love this, so true!

Aaron Greene Aaron Greene
Recommendations: 30

I agree with Cindy, love these lines.

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Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Ode


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soul mates

From the throats of fathers, mothers, brothers
comes a legacy, an apology, choking in its own smoke.
Like the photos that have cancer,
strange growths that burn when I touch them,
intrude upon the eyes when I look. 2 comments


In your silver, heart shaped box
(the one I bought you)
maggots slip and slide, jumping
inside their own fleshy bones.


And your bed.
It reeks of death.
The pillow, nicotine-stained,
still holds the imprint of a head;
sleeping, still.


Possessions become possessed,
taking on their own identities
and stealing memories from my sleep.
The box trembles beneath the bed.
Clothes touch themselves in the closet.
They keep me awake
with all the things I shouldn’t have said,
the truths I should’ve restrained
and that temper I was told I should’ve tamed.


The sleeping die a little death;
the living are making it quicker.
Me, the spitting image
in furious ballad and archaic veins
slipping from room to room,
from head to womb
just trying to find the way back.


Childhood is the Kingdom where everybody dies. 2 comments


Adulthood; the graveyard
where you learn to understand what the means.


From the garden springs the old swing-set
bursting from the earth for reprieve.
I daren’t sit.
The thorns and thickets
you once cut down
snag me, laughing
as the wind makes them shake.
This is no never-land,
but an ever-after of memory. 4 comments


I don’t ever want to be that young again.
I don’t want the father, mother, brother
whose nameless storms erode the house
and keep me from my right to innocence.


Light balloons on empty air
drift up toward the ceiling.
Echoes of happy birthday,
a year closer…


The room would float up and out
and take me with it
if it wasn’t for the shelter you gave me.


I want to fly.


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